


legacy

by callmearcturus, lasciel



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pokemon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:59:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5994040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasciel/pseuds/lasciel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhys follows Angel's gaze to her swablu, flying ahead of them. “I'm sure they'll get along just fine,” he assures her, holding back a laugh. When it comes to nicknaming their pokémon, Angel isn't quite as bad as Jack, but she isn't exactly imaginative either.</p>
<p>    Yet again, he bemoans Jack's majestic shiny rapidash, forever saddled with the ridiculous name 'Butt Stallion'. <i>Maybe Angel will grow into it one day</i>, Rhys assures himself. <i>She's only 10-years-old after all.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. legacy

**Author's Note:**

> basically, I fell madly in love with [rhystructured](http://rhystructured.tumblr.com)‘s [drawings](http://rhystructured.tumblr.com/post/135692447291/more-pokemon-au-minus-the-actual-pokemon-steel), and then I saw [jettiebettie](http://jettiebettie.tumblr.com/)‘s [ideas](http://jettiebettie.tumblr.com/tagged/pokemon-au), and decided that I really really wanted to play in this sandbox. so I took some parts from both of them and wrote my own take on the entire thing, and now [callmearcturus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/callmearcturus/pseuds/callmearcturus) has joined me!
> 
> thank you, [scootsaboot](http://scootsaboot.tumblr.com/), for looking this one over for me! any remaining mistakes are my doing. (and before the weird POV makes you run away: it’s only the first scene, no worries)

It was a long and difficult journey, but you're finally here. You stare at the 8th and final gym towering before you, an imposing yellow and grey construction.

Inhaling deeply, you enter. There's nothing to be afraid of: You know the gym's types, picked your team according to their weaknesses. It's a gym just like the ones before it, it just so happens that this is the final one before you can finally brave the pokémon league.

A man greets you, about as tall as you are which makes him instantly more likeable than the other adults you've met during your travels. “Hi, my name is Vaughn. Welcome to our gym!” He adjusts his glasses, fidgets a bit. “Sorry, the gym leader isn't in attendance today...”

Groaning loudly, you roll your eyes. Gym leaders have _one_ job: To be around so that the champion-to-be can challenge them. How difficult can it be to do that, really?

Vaughn's fidgeting increases. “Well, his proxy is around, but—”

You don't let Vaughn finish, already rushing ahead into the gym. “Thanks, dude!” _Finally_ a gym leader who thinks ahead.

You battle an ace trainer called Yvette, and then have a long double battle against two sisters, Fiona and Sasha. Neither of them gives you so much as an inch, and even though they're nothing but nice and professional, you kind of get the feeling that they don't want you to actually reach the proxy gym leader.

Of course, that only makes your fingers itch for the final badge even more.

The dark hallways eventually end in a massive room, and the view makes you pause for a moment. The entire back of it is made out of glass — no, monitors? — showing the endless vastness of space, stars sprinkled here and there, bathing everything in violet hues.

The sound of papers rustling draws your attention to the chair — more like a throne — in the middle of the room, and the man seated on it.

From where you're standing, you can't really see anything beyond the black trousers and the beige robe he's wearing. His face is mostly obscured by the newspaper he's reading, and you slowly move closer, wincing at how loudly your steps echo.

The man peeks over his newspaper at you, then stands up, leaving the paper on the throne. “Hiya, kiddo!” He expands his arms, his voice booming. “Welcome, I'm Jack, yadda yadda yadda battle?”

You're not really proud of it, but you can't stop staring at the large blue scar on the man's face. During your journey, you've met some pretty intimidating people, mean punks, scary bikers and creepy psychics, and even though the scar is the only noteworthy thing about the man, _something_ about Jack makes you wonder if maybe you should try again tomorrow.

You draw yourself up to your full height. No. You're going to get that badge today. You cough, still sounding way too unsure for your own liking when you ask, “Yeah, um, you're the proxy for this gym's leader, right?”

Jack nods, a lopsided smile on his lips. “Yep. He's out with our little girl.” 

You try not to fidget under his intense gaze. “That means you're using the same pokémon types as him. Right?”

The wide grin on Jack's face does not reassure you at all.

* * *

“Thank you so much, dad, he's perfect!”

Rhys grins warmly at Angel, then lets their joined hands swing even more wildly, much to her delight. “You're welcome.” He taps his steel arm against his cybernetic eye, lowers his voice as if he's sharing a secret with her. “Being a walking-talking PokéNav has its advantages.”

She nods enthusiastically, still clutching the greatball holding her freshly caught ducklett close to her chest. “I hope he and Princess will like each other.”

Rhys follows Angel's gaze to her swablu, flying ahead of them. “I'm sure they'll get along just fine,” he assures her, holding back a laugh. When it comes to nicknaming their Pokémon, Angel isn't quite as bad as Jack, but she isn't exactly imaginative either. 

Yet again, he bemoans Jack's majestic shiny rapidash, forever saddled with the ridiculous name 'Butt Stallion'. _Maybe Angel will grow into it one day_ , Rhys assures himself. _She's only 10-years-old after all._

They're on their way back home after a long day hunting for the right ducklett, and Rhys can only hope that nobody tried to win his badge today. Even while Jack was still the gym's leader he was known for his particularities, never settling on a specific type, changing his Pokémon team on a whim every few days. Always eager for the best, the strongest combination. Retirement has only made him even more shrewd.

It's not like Jack doesn't care at all about his pokémon. Rhys probably wouldn't be able to love him as much as he does if that were the case. It's just that he cares about them in a very peculiar, Jack-like way.

“I can't wait to show Cupcake to dad!” Angel lets go of his hand, running ahead to her swablu, Great Ball now clutched in both hands and raised above her head.

A swablu named Princess and a ducklett named Cupcake. Rhys shakes his head, chuckling quietly. She's definitely Jack's daughter, alright. 

Something soft wraps around his left arm, and he smiles down at his shiny sylveon, gently patting the ribbon-like feeler he has wrapped around Rhys' lower arm. Sometimes, Rhys likes to have Atlas sit next to him when he welcomes another challenger, just to mess with their heads a bit. 

They enter fully prepared for his steel and electric pokémon, and suddenly being confronted with the cutest dragon-slayer in history tends to throw them off. 

Of course, Rhys is careful not to let Jack catch him when he does this. It would probably only spur Jack on to mess with the trainers entering their— Rhys' gym even more. 

He sighs, feeling warm and content. “Ready to head home, Atlas?” 

Atlas lets out a musical sound in confirmation, and then they continue following the loudly cheering Angel, apparently now having a race with her swablu.

* * *

He hears the muffled sobs even before he catches sight of the shaking back of a child seconds before it vanishes inside of Snowbelle City's Pokémon Center.

Rhys' good mood dims slightly. So much for his hopes of nobody trying for his badge today.

Both he and Angel fist bump Vaughn when they enter, then sneak quietly past Yvette, Fiona and Sasha who are locked in yet another heated pokémon discussion.

Jack has his eyes closed, sitting on his— now Rhys' throne. With a rueful smile, Rhys admonishes himself. He's been this gym's leader for years now, but somehow it always feels more natural to call it _their_ gym.

“Dad! Dad! I caught a ducklett, and he's perfect, dad!” Angel runs to Jack, excitedly waving the greatball in his face.

“Knew you would!” Jack grins, then catches her hand in his, presses a loud and wet kiss against the back of it.

Angel squeals and wiggles away, laughing. “Gross!”

Chuckling, Jack pats her head, his eyes now on Rhys. “Hope Rhysie here didn't hold you back too much, princess.”

“Nah,” Angel replies, equally serious, “he did okay.” She can't hold up the facade as good as Jack yet though, and giggles in the next moment. Angel spins around, and Rhys is all too happy to lean down so she can press a kiss to his cheek, her arms coming around him. “Thanks, dad!”

Rhys hugs her back, presses a kiss against her temple. His eyes meet Jack's over Angel's shoulder, and Rhys is pretty sure he has never seen his husband's features look so soft before.

“That's good. I'd hate to have to kick him out now,” Jack says, his voice gravely, making Rhys shudder. Grinning, Jack adds, “I'd have to go look for another successor to this gym, you know, and that's just way too much work.”

Angel turns back to Jack with a gasp, disentangles one arm from behind Rhys' back to hit Jack's thigh. “Dad, you're terrible!” She turns to Rhys again, hugs him tighter. “I'm not letting him kick you out, not ever,” she stage-whispers to Rhys. “Don't worry.”

Rhys presses his forehead onto Angel's hair, has to swallow several times before he can make his throat work again. God, he loves her so much. Sometimes he's sure it'll be too much to be contained by his body any longer, and then he'll explode one day, just like an electrode. “Thanks, Angel.”

Angel leans back, grinning widely. “No problem.” She lets go of Rhys, points one finger at Jack. “Behave!” she tells him sternly, and then she's running off to the seating area, where Atlas, Butt Stallion and Princess are already gathered.

They are both quiet for a moment, watching Angel make herself comfortable between their pokémon, proudly showing them her new friend.

Jack takes Rhys' right arm, draws him closer until Rhys sits down on his lap. “Hey, hubby.”

Rhys chuckles, softly knocks his forehead against Jack's. “Hey, yourself.” He pokes Jack's chest, tries his best to scowl at him. “You made another child cry, Jack.”

“Oops?” Jack bats his eyes at Rhys, and Rhys really can't hold the smile back any longer.

But still, Rhys is the gym leader — he has responsibilities. “Come on, be serious.” He pokes Jack again. “I told you to be more gentle with the trainers, especially the younger ones.”

Shrugging with one shoulder, Jack seems much more interested in placing his hands on Rhys' waist. “Wasn't actually half bad, the kid. Almost had me a few times.”

Rhys leans back, scowl back in place while he critically examines Jack's amused face. “Jack. How many full restores did you use?” There's an unwritten rule — one of many — for gym leaders never to use more than one, maybe two potions, depending on the situation.

Jack raises his chin, scratches at his throat thoughtfully, and that gesture in itself is already answer enough.

Groaning, Rhys lets his head fall onto Jack's shoulder.

“Oh, come on, baby.” Jack digs his fingers into Rhys' back, and Rhys groans again, for an entirely different reason this time. “Kid will be back tomorrow for another round, I know it. So don't worry your pretty head about it.” He digs his fingers more firmly into Rhys' back, where he's usually the most tense, and he nuzzles at Rhys' temple, voice low. “A sound defeat here and there does them good, those upstarts. I've seen it so often before: kid flies through the gyms, never faces a real challenge because we're all primed on coddling them. Then they reach the league, cocky as can be, only to fail spectacularly at the very first trainer who challenges them.”

The fingers work lower down Rhys' back, and Rhys is well aware that Jack is softening him up, but he doesn't really have it in himself to object right now. Instead he thinks about Jack's scar, the silent reminder that Jack was once cocky as well.

Jack's palms stop on Rhys' ass, his voice even softer now. “And then you've got a mob of angry parents banging on your door, asking why their wee-prodigy-baby suddenly isn't good enough anymore to master the league.”

Sighing, Rhys presses his mouth against Jack's throat, grumbles, “Fine, fine.”

They both fall silent, simply enjoying each other's warmth and presence.

Angel's voice reaches them, bright and clear, “...and you'll be an elegant altaria, Princess, and Cupcake will be a beautiful swanna!”

Slowly, Jack turns the throne until they're able to see Angel again. Without Rhys having to say anything, Jack's hands move from his ass to his thighs.

Angel throws her hands in the air, an animated talker, just like Jack. On her head, her swablu wobbles slightly. “And then one day you'll have the most perfect babies ever, stronger than any other pokémon out there!”

Butt Stallion lets out a snort while Atlas' right ribbon-feeler dances in the air, his left one wrapped around Angel's ankle, and Cupcake hops up and down in front of her, blue wings flapping excitedly.

“She really takes after you, huh?” Smiling, Rhys looks back at Jack again, places his left palm gently on Jack's cheek. 

Jack leans into the touch with a thoughtful noise. He watches Angel for another moment, now excitedly fluffing up Princess' cottony wings. “Nah,” Jack replies eventually, easily, eyes sparkling before he presses his grin against Rhys' lips, “I think she's got the best from both of us.”


	2. illusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack meets Rhys, and predictably makes an ass of himself.
> 
> this ficlet's from donotchoosesidesyet/callmearcturus/Lucy

Jack was aware there were many kinds of trainers in the world. Not everyone was built for the League, or even the Gym Challenge. Some folks were breeders, some picked teams they liked rather than strategizing at all, and some just wanted a pet skitty around the house.

It was all fine. He’d learned not to begrudge people for not having the same… slightly above average competitive zeal that had led him to taking over the Helios Gym. Different strokes, right?

But vanity trainers were a waste of goddamn space.

They were a dime a dozen in Kalos, where your pokemon’s haircut was as important as its moveset. There were so many people, lounging around the fifty friggin’ cafes in Luminose City, all with their show pokemon conspicuously out on display. It drove Jack up the damn wall. Like, congrats, you lucked out and nabbed a pokemon with a non-standard coloration. Didn’t make you a real trainer.

Case in point. Jack was in Kalos for a meeting with the local Pokedex complier. There was an expansion ready, and Jack liked to keep his equipment up to date. On his way to the lab, he stopped at one of the cafes, unable to resist the draw of that rich, dark coffee smell that filled the streets.

He ordered himself a double shot with cream, taking time to just lean over the mug and inhale deeply. Just that made him feel more awake, the rush hitting him before he even had a taste.

That probably meant he drank too much coffee or something, but Jack didn’t have any time to contemplate that. Instead, he turned to find a table, and stopped dead in his tracks.

Sitting outside under one of the bright red umbrellas was the king of the vanity trainers. A man in a honey-gold vest, black tailored pants, long sleeves with glinting cufflinks, glimmering in the sunlight. There were expensive looking sunglasses wrapped around his face and boots with smart little kitten heels on his feet.

And sitting on the table in front of him was a sylveon, a “shiny” one, standing out with it blue ears and little mitten paws. Next to it was a plate of pastries, and as Jack watched, the man picked up one puff between two fingers and held it out for the sylveon to nibble.

It was adorable, and Jack could barely resist rolling his eyes.

Striding out, letting his boots come down a little harder than necessary with each step, Jack leaned in the cafe’s entryway, just a few feet away from the pretty boy and his pretty fairy ‘mon. Tucking one hand into his pocket, Jack let his arm nudge his jacket back, away from his hip. Around his belt sat his pokeball mount, with six balls sitting in place, purple and black balls in a neat line.

He saw the man at the table still for just a second as he realized he was being watched, before he reached for his latte. This close, Jack could see his arm was metal, a brilliant chrome that shifted between silver and gold hues with its every curve.

King of the vanity trainers indeed, Jack almost had to respect this one for going all out. It was like bumping into a model.

“Can I help you?” the man asked over the rim of his mug.

“S'nice pokemon there. Color’s pretty. It know any tricks?”

The mug clicked against the stone table as the man set it down, turning in his chair to look Jack over appraisingly. His sunglasses slipped down his nose, and oh, Mr. Model Trainer had nice eyes, brown and electric blue. Jack grinned back toothily.

Taking in Jack’s belt, the man let out an unsubtle snort, shaking his head. “Tricks. Yeah, Atlas here has plenty. My favorite is the innate ability that Sycamore’s dubbed 'Pixilate’, which imbues any normal type moves with fairy type properties. Tears through dark and dragon defenses.”

Jack felt his eyebrows rise. “Well, someone’s glanced at a 'dex, huh.”

“Once or twice,” the man said tartly. “Are you looking for a battle or what? I mean, keep in mind that I’m off the clock right now, so I’m not obligated to go easy on you.”

Jack let out a sharp laugh. “Oh, cupcake, you feel up for that? A battle might get dust on your pretty threads.”

“It’s Rhys.” He stood, holding out his arm to his sylveon, which quickly clamoured up to settle on his shoulder, letting out a bright chirp. “Two pokemon, no substitutions, no item use. Loser buys the winner a drink.”

This was rapidly becoming interesting. Jack tucked his hands into his pockets and followed Rhys out into the open street. “Sure thing, sounds good.” He stood still as Rhys paced out a battle field, twenty long strides between them, before he pivoted smartly on his heel to face Jack again. “I drink espresso, by the way. Shot of cream, three sugars.”

“Down, Atlas,” Rhys said, waiting until his sylveon had leapt daintly to the ground at his feet. He unbuttoned his shirt sleeve, rolling it up to the elbow of his metal arm. There, between his wrist and elbow, were six pokeballs. He tapped his finger against one and it expanded, dropping into his open palm. “Ready?”

Jack unseated his first ball, starting to frown. “Yup,” he said, spinning the ball on his fingertip before throwing it out.

It landed, and the ball ejected back to Jack’s open hand. The seviper coiled and hissed at Rhys, eyes bright and animal in the daylight.

Rhys tilted his head, lifting his hand to brush through his hair. “Hm. Atlas, go ahead.”

The sylveon padded forward, standing daintily with its paws in a line, letting out a loud purring noise as it waited patiently for command.

Jack’s jaw dropped, and he let out a delighted sound. “See, I knew it, I _knew_!” He waved a hand at the impromptu arena. “Look, I get it, you get an en vogue pokemon, you think you’re a real trainer, but you…” He chuckled. “Babe, how’s about I give you a do-over? Pick another one, maybe one that _isn’t_ weak against poison movesets–”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Atlas, shut him up. Hyper Beam.”

Jack stepped back, shielding his eyes as a beam of tremendous light blasted across and into his pokemon.

It stumbled back, the seviper’s visage dissolving into a zoroark that staggered to its knees and fainted.

Rhys crossed his arms. “You’re too flashy. Walking around with nothing but ultra and masterballs on your holster. You think you’re much smarter than you really are. You think I’m a vanity trainer– look in the mirror.” He rocked back on his heels, tapping one toe against the pavement. “Now, throw out your _real_ seviper and let’s finish this.”

Well. Fine then. Jack returned his pokemon to its ball and threw out another, the actual seviper. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe I took a look at you and wanted to show off a bit too, Mr. Once In A Lifetime Eevee Catch.” He waved a hand. “Go on, switch out, lets do this.”

“No need. Atlas, psyshock.”

Shit. “Sev, poison jab!”

The little fairy fox was faster, and his pokemon took another OHKO. Whole battle was over in three minutes.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “A fairy with a psychic move?”

Rhys whistled, and his sylveon bounded back to him, leaping into his arms as he bent over. “Fairies take to TMs very well. Now, I believe you owe me a drink.”

Jack watched as Rhys returned his pokemon to the cafe table, picking up a puff to feed it. “You did _so good_ , yes, you did,” Rhys cooed to it as it gobbled up the treat. “You showed that smug jerk who’s boss, didn’t you?”

Sidling up to him, Jack leaned in. “Yeah, yeah, your fairy thing knows a few tricks. What’s your drink order, babe?”

“Mm.” Rhys lifted his glasses onto his head, mouth pulling into contemplative moue. His fingers twined around one of his sylveon’s ribbony feelers. “Chai latte, coconut milk and two pumps coconut, dirty.”

“How many shots?”

“Just the one. Makes the chai tastier.”

“I bet.” Jack squeezed Rhys’ shoulder. “Be right back.”

He stepped back inside, a saunter in his step as he approached the bar, wallet in hand. Taking a loss from a pretty hotshot was not how Jack had intended to spend his day, but… at least it had been interesting.

If more trainers like that walked into Jack’s gym, he’d enjoy the whole gym leader gig more. Fewer coddled kids, more shrewd tacticians.

Maybe if Jack played his cards right, he’d get a rematch out of this. And if he played _that_ right… Well, Rhys may not have been the shallow hipster that Jack had anticipated, but he was still rather pretty. Pretty with some know-how was an attractive combo.

Picking up the drink, Jack smirked and made his way back outside. His smile dimmed as he watched Rhys shoulder a messenger bag, his beloved sylveon poking its head out, ribbons nudging Rhys’ cheek affectionately. Rhys looked up, and brightened. “Oh, perfect timing, thanks.”

Jack handed over the latte. “Leaving so soon?”

Rhys smiled. “I wanted the drink. Not company. And I have to get back to the gym.”

“Gym? You going for the badge, babe?”

“Well, someone probably will. It would be bad if a challenger showed up and I wasn’t there.” He took a sip of his latte, and gave Jack a quick wink. “I’m filling in for Clemont as he takes his sabbatical in Onova.” Waving his free fingers at Jack, he turned, walking up the lane towards the Prism Tower. “I’d say thanks for the battle, but it wasn’t much of one, so… thanks for the drink!”


	3. fortune

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short glimpse at Rhys' past. because Rhys/Sycamore is apparently my crackship now. it's terrible. blame them for being both too pretty.
> 
> -Lucy

On the days Rhys has off from work, when he doesn’t have to go and tend to the Prism Tower, he still enjoys waking up early. Jack always sleeps in, terminally lazy in the mornings, but Rhys finds a great deal of comfort in having an early espresso in the kitchen, standing at the window and watching the sky turn from pink to blue as the sun rises.

He’s not exactly awake yet, so it takes him some time to realize he’s not the only member of the household that’s awake. Out in the yard, the grass shifts and jostles as Angel hops around, her coat swinging around her knees and rainboots pulled on over her feet to keep the morning dew at bay.

Yawning quietly, Rhys picks up his mug and goes to find his slip-on shoes and coat. In his opinion, it’s far too soon in the day to be outside, the night chill lingering as he steps outside onto the deck. Making his way to the barrier, he leans out. “Angel? Isn’t it a little early to be out?”

Angel twirls around so quick, she nearly topples over, all gangly awkward youth with more enthusiasm than grace. It's terribly endearing. “Dad,” she chirps, making her way to the deck to stand beneath Rhys. “Dad, how… how did you find Atlas?”

“How?” Rhys tilts his head to the side, not following.

“Atlas is… is shiny! I wanted to find a shiny of my own, but…” Her mouth tips down into a little moue of disappointment. “I haven't seen one.”

“Ah,” Rhys says, sipping his drink slowly. “Well, _shiny_ pokemon are very rare aberrations. There is some kind of random gene that causes their colors to be different. Have you asked Professor Sycamore about it?”

Angel nods. “H-he said that they’re the same as any other pokemon, just with… mutated pigments,” she says, speaking slowly around the unfamiliar words.

“Right. So they are hard to find. Atlas, I got him as a little eevee. It was pure chance.” Rhys smiles faintly. “What are you hoping to find?”

“Anything. I want a pretty pokemon like Atlas,” Angel says, turning back to the grass with a determined furrow in her brow.

Chuckling, Rhys steps away from the railing. “Well, good luck. And stay close to the house.”

Angel waves back at him over her shoulder as she resumes her hunt. Settling in on a bench to watch, Rhys leans back, eyes almost shut.

Atlas. God, he’d met Atlas so long ago.

 

* * *

 

It was outside Geosenge Town and Rhys was regretting so many of his life’s choices. More than anything, though, he regretted not picking up his own bike on the way up from Cyllage.

It was midday, and they were too far from the coastline to feel the cool breeze rolling in. Instead, the hot sun beat down as Rhys took shelter in the shade of one of the old columns.

“Ugh,” Rhys said with feeling, taking off his hat to fan his face with it.

“Such a delicate flower, _chère_.” Sycamore let his bike coast to a stop in front of Rhys, looking no worse for wear with the weather, a bright as a daisy with his sporty gear and hiking boots. “You can still ride on the bars if you like.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Gus, you’re going to hit one rock and I’ll go flying, probably land right onto a Rhyhorn or something.”

“No, no, they don’t live outside caves in this region. Relax, Rhys.” He reached for his pack and offered Rhys his canteen. “Are you sure you’re Kalosian? I’ve never met someone so adverse to our climate who wasn’t a tourist.”

“Half. Half Kalosian.” Rhys took the canteen, drank deeply. The water was cool; Sycamore must’ve refilled it in the last river they passed. It did a lot of good.

“Well, you’re wilting a little less.” Sycamore leaned forward on his handlebars. “Why don’t we get a room at Geosenge, and I’ll come back out here later.”

“No, I’m fine. Just… what are you _looking_ for, Augustine?”

“Another pokemon I’d like to catch, take back to the lab. Snubbull, the one with the unhappy little face?” Sycamore frowned deeply, pouting in an effective imitation of the pokemon, then laughed. “It’s typed as normal, but I’m certain we’re looking at a new… what is the word, a dichotomy?”

“Fairy, right,” Rhys said, nodding along. He was well aware of Sycamore’s thesis project; the existence of another pokemon species type would change the game significantly, but Sycamore had plenty of research left to do. Unfortunately, much of it was field work, and Sycamore wasn’t exactly a talented trainer.

That was where Rhys came in, acting as traveling companion and trainer-proxy for his friend. It was a decent deal; Rhys liked the work, the opportunity to explore the Kalos region.

And travelling with his boyfriend wasn’t really a hardship. It made hotel stays more interesting, that was for certain.

“Keep looking,” Rhys told Sycamore. “But we should get to Geosenge before nightfall. The hotel there is supposed to be small. If I have to sleep outside one more night, I’m going to be pissed.”

"Oh, anything to avoid your ire,  _chère,"_ Sycamore said with a wry smirk. He straightened on his bike, foot returning to the pedal. “I’ll get back to it.”

As he rode away again through the grass, Rhys finally stood again, feeling a little better from his break. This leg of their journey would go quicker if he helped look for the snubbull Sycamore needed.

Heading back to the tall grass, Rhys crept around, keeping his eyes peeled and alert for any sign, looking for light hues amid the rich greenery.

Something caught his eye eventually, a pale shape trotting through the grass. Rhys took off after it, eager for a shot.

But, the pokemon wasn’t snubbull at all, but an eevee, hiding behind one of the rocks. Its fur was a pale, shimmering color, closer to gold than brown, and Rhys’s lips parted in surprise as he met its big dark eyes.

Well, it wasn’t one of Sycamore’s elusive fairies, but Rhys had a feeling it’d be worth the pokeball anyway. Kneeling, Rhys clicked his tongue a few times, patting down his pockets until he found a treat to offer. “Hey there, little guy. Aren’t you just the cutest thing.”

The eevee sniffed the air, but didn’t move, just staring some more.

Rhys smiled. “Okay.” He tapped out a pokeball, thumb against the center button. Pachirisu would be perfect for this, just a little electric paralysis and a quick thrown pokeball. “You are so coming home with us.”

Not a fairy, but Rhys had a feeling Sycamore wouldn’t mind a rare coat mutation, if only because it was pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, for the curious:
> 
>  **JACK:** themed Dark-types and hard-hitters  
>  Luxray, Rapidash (shiny, named Butt Stallion), Zoroark, Garbodor, Hydreigon, Gyarados (Jack's first pokemon, caught as a Magikarp and painstakingly trained up)
> 
>  **ANGEL:** themed adorable pokemon, inclined towards Fairy-types  
>  Swabluu, Ducklett, Cottonee, Carbink, Goomy (likes Jack a lot, gives him tons of slimy hugs that ruin his clothes), Amaura (Jack bought her a dinosaur pokemon basically)
> 
>  **RHYS:** themed stylish, pretty, and hilariously OP  
>  Slyveon (shiny, the beloved Atlas), Milotic, Pachirisu, Gallade (with Mega Evolution for maximum flashiness), Aegislash, Medicham (acts as a babysitter for Angel)
> 
> that's _my_ headcanon, not necessarily ledgem's.


	4. revision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Feelings_ aren't exactly Jack's strong suit. Neither are proposals, apparently.
> 
> (ficlet from lasciel/ledgem)

It's a quiet day, a rare one they've got only for themselves. Rhys and Jack are sprawled over their large sofa, their feet touching. Jack is playing with his watch-comp while Rhys is talking with Sycamore, because the dude will call Rhys if he so much as finds a speck of dust he suspects to secretly be a new fairy pokémon. 

Angel's shrieked laughter wafts through the open veranda, and okay, _maybe_ it wasn't such a terrible idea to let her play with a few of her classmates. That Rhys gave him that disapproving-cold-shoulder combo from hell when he opposed the idea vehemently probably did its part convincing Jack, but whatever.

When the call finally ends with by now familiar but no less annoying endearments, Jack nudges Rhys' foot with his own, without looking up from the truly wicked game of chess he's playing against himself. "If we hadn't tied this knot ages ago, I might actually be worried about Dickamore's constant calling."

“Jack, don't call him that, “Rhys says automatically, and then he's quiet for a moment. Snorting, he nudges Jack back. "Yeah, right. Nice one, Jack."

Looking up, Jack frowns. "What do you mean, 'nice one'. I made an honest man out of you forever ago. Or you of me, doesn't really matter."

Tilting his head, Rhys looks at him with a raised eyebrow. "... I'm pretty sure I would know if we were married."

Okay, now Rhys is having him on, the little minx. He grabs for Rhys' left hand, drawing it up with a triumphant sound. "Yeah? And what's—"

Except. There is no ring on Rhys' fingers. Jack lowers the hand again, mind blank.

"Hey," Rhys says quietly, now actually looking _concerned_ , "Jack, are you okay?"

Jack waves his concern away, mumbles, "Just... stay there for a moment." He stands up, walking towards his workroom, still convinced Rhys is playing a particularly crude joke on him. Maybe because Jack tried to block Dickamore from calling him? Or maybe Jack forgot somebody's birthday again?

He lets himself fall heavily onto his chair, opens the top drawer. 

Shit, did he forget their anniversary? Chewing on his bottom lip, he rummages through the drawer, wrinkling the papers in there, pushing away a new prototype masterball he's been tinkering with for a while, on and off.

His fingers curl around a familiar, small box, and he freezes for a second, a filthy curse stuck in his throat. Jack takes it out of the drawer slowly, almost as if he's afraid it's going to explode on him. 

Or maybe he's hoping it will explode on him. His thoughts aren't really clear, even more of a jumbled mess than they usually are.

There's dust on the white box and Jack's dark, dried and smudged fingerprints all over it.

He stands up dazedly, slowly making his way back to the sofa. 

Jack can remember asking Rhys to marry him. And it was _awesome_. Rhys cried prettily and gave him a celebratory blowjob right after, and then Angel appeared later on and told him that she didn't really like fairy pokés all that much anymore and that Jack's still the coolest dad, and—

The ring is still inside, a fine metal and gold band, interwoven at two points, and a small, pink diamond inlaid into it. It's a pink diamond, because... Jack still loathes fairy pokémon, their teeth-aching cuteness, their everything, and that will probably never change. But he knows if it wasn't for them, their first meeting might not have even happened or their third and all the ones following after.

Jack thought long and hard about the design, ordered the rings at least two years ago, imagined how to best ask Rhys, how to make it perfect, deserving of Rhys and his lofty, ivory tower standards.

He must have imagined it so often that he ended up believing he had already done it, which... wow. Sure, Jack knows he isn't exactly great at this entire feelings business, about confronting them or god forbid _talking_ about them. But this takes his... problem to a new high.

Angrily, he scratches his fingers over his face, over the blueish scar taking up most of it, cursing it viciously. Not enough that it's a constant reminder of his failed attempt at harnessing Celebi's time-travel abilities, and how Suicune had swept in and freed it, burning part of its crest permanently onto Jack's face in the process. Oh no, that wasn't enough, wasn't enough _punishment_ for Jack's — admittedly — bold experiments. 

Ever since then Jack has a bit of trouble figuring out if something already happened or if he simply... _saw_ it happen. It's not that bad or something he's confronted with daily. He probably only has to deal with 'where the hell are my glasses' a bit more often than other people, and is occasionally confronted with an annoying moment of 'why are you still here, I fired you'.

And apparently now this includes having thought Rhys and he were married for a long time already.

Back in the living room Rhys has sat up on the sofa, and Jack avoids Rhys' searching gaze, drops down in front of him on one knee reflexively. Because that's how this is supposed to happen. How this was supposed to already have happened, so to say.

Swallowing, his eyes flicker to Rhys' concerned face, quickly back the the box. With something like dread settling heavily in his stomach, he realises _why_ he probably never quite managed to actually ask Rhys to marry him, why he never questioned not having a crystal clear memory of it.

Because there was a always a chance that this would be too much, that it would make Rhys realise that he can do better than Jack, that he doesn't actually need to be together with Jack to spend time with Angel.

“Jack...” Rhys begins quietly, unsure, and Jack opens the box hastily, showing Rhys the ring.

Rhys falls quiet, and Jack stares at the bare expanse of Rhys' throat, swallows again almost angrily, hoping to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

The silence lasts until Jack thinks it would be better to just bolt with the pitiful remains of his pride, to run before Rhys inevitably says no.

Slender fingers wiggle in front of his face and startled, Jack meets Rhys' warm eyes. “Want to put it on?”

The weight falling from his heart and tongue should make an audible sound. Rhys knows him far too well, even though he doesn't know the full scope of Jack's little problem. For all their bickering and head-butting, Rhys is far too lenient with him. 

Honestly, Jack probably really doesn't deserve him.

“I don't know, Rhysie.” Jack takes Rhys' hand with his own, glad that his wits have finally returned to him. “You eat almost as many treats as you feed to Atlas. It might not fit you anymore.” Predictably and despite his words, he slips the ring onto Rhys' finger without a problem, because Rhys is and remains a lanky beanstalk, no matter how many treats he eats. 

Both of them pretend they don't notice the small shaking to Jack's hands.

Rhys slides from the sofa, pushing Jack's knee down and bracketing him with his long legs. He laughs quietly, and they both ignore the wet hiccup hiding in it as well. “I think this is quite possibly the least romantic proposal in the history of mankind,” Rhys says quietly, and Jack stares up at him, entranced by the disbelieving joy on Rhys' face, by his trembling bottom lip.

“Nah.” Jack's eyes are itching for some reason, and he leans forward, hides his face in the crook of Rhys' neck. “It could have been worse.”

A questioning noise, and Rhys' fingers card through Jack's hair, tickle his neck.

Jack's voice is a quiet, embarrassing thing when he explains, “You could have said no.”

Rhys stills for a breath. His fingers tilt Jack's face up again, and Rhys presses his forehead against Jack's temple, a small smile on his lips. “You're an idiot.”

Jack laughs, because as usual, Rhys is absolutely right; not that Jack would ever admit that loudly. “Only for you.”

He's still laughing when their mouths meet.

“Wait,” Rhys says suddenly, an unspecific eternity later, and pokes Jack's side, “Where's yours?” He arches an eyebrow at Jack. “Don't tell me you lost it.”

_Man, you misplace a couple of things here and there and nobody is ever gonna let you live it down._ Grinning, Jack pats his left shirt pocket, the place where he has been keeping his own ring — the exact same design just without the diamond — ever since he got them, every day. “Right where it belongs.”

Humming contently, Rhys leans their foreheads together again.

From the garden, Angel's exuberant laughter gains in intensity, filling the living room and settling over them like a blessing. Compared to this moment in time, Jack's mirage-memory fades away to nothing.


	5. medium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack gets a revelatory headache and explains his old grudge with Suicune.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Ledgem, for holding my hand while I worked this out. CW for allusion to drowning.
> 
> -Lucy

It never happens the same way twice.

Jack does his best not to keep track of the... god, he doesn't even want to give them a name, everything that comes to mind--  _ visions? premonitions? _ \-- sounds horribly Kalosian, and that was the last thing Jack wanted. Just because he deigned to gift the region with his patronage didn’t mean he wanted to go  _ native _ .

 

 

Dendemille sat on a major waterway stretching from north Kalos down to the southeast. It sprawled across the river, some docks stretching out into the water. Many were for shipping vessels, but Kalos was always careful to make allowances for tourists, so there were a few fishing docks as well, open to the public.

Angel liked it down by the water. Honestly, once upon a time, she’d been a homebody, which had suited Jack fine. Rhys, though, took her out, took her to the shops and stores, took her out to look for pokemon, and whatever else the two did. Since Rhys had moved in, he’d taken to bundling Angel up in her coat, handing her a thermos of tea, and sending her on her way.

There were upsides to having the house to themselves for a few hours, very adult, saucy upsides.

Today, though, Angel was down by the docks, eager to be outside even with the overcast day. The waves in the river were choppy, especially for an inland waterway, but Angel had her father’s fearlessness, as well as her other father’s fishing rod and a satchel of net balls.

 

(“Out of all the trash pokemon in the world,” Rhys had said with a sour look, “magikarp are the  _ worst _ .”

Jack had stood up, a hand on his belt, thumbing one pokeball on his holster. “Me and my gyarados disagree, babe. Say we step outside and see you prove it?”

“Dads,” Angel had said quietly, “can we finish dinner first?”

“You can’t give the benefits of a  _ gyarados _ to its evolutionary predecessor, that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s all about potential, babe, and magikarp has more potential in one fin than your precious eevees have in--”

“ _ Daaaaaaads _ .”)

 

So Angel was fishing, hoping to find something that would make one father proud and suit the other’s more… discerning tastes. A poliwag would be cute, though Angel figured a barboach would be more likely this time of year.

She was small, and sitting on the dock let her legs dangle down, the lowest bar of the railing perfect for her elbows to rest on as she held the pole steady.

 

But the…  _ things _ . They came over him randomly and from strange places. Once in the swirl of the drain between his feet as he showered. Another time, words resolving themselves from the staid Courier of his design briefs. Dreams, once or twice, just to go with the cliche apparently. And in the ice and glass shine at the bottom of his gin, to hit the other cliche.

This time, it was even more innocuous. His damaged eye aching, Jack leaned his head in his hands, wincing against the migraine brewing.

 

The tea in her thermos was warm and honey-sweet, bracing against the chill in the air. Below her, the waves hit against the dock, the spray of the water cold against her toes. She was getting her socks wet. Dad would chide her later for that--

 

  
_ No, he won’t, _ Jack thinks, elsewhere, face contorting with pain.

  
  


\--but if she had something good to bring back, that’d be a good enough distraction.

There weren’t any poliwags in the water today, though. Not even any barboarches. 

Around her, only a few people wandered the docks. She heard bits of a conversation, biting her lip as she fought to understand. She could read and write Kalosian, but it was still hard to understand the language when spoken. When she went to the capital with Rhys, he translated for her, his own grasp of the language much better. She wanted to sound confident like him someday, pretty words flowing like silk from his mouth.

The couple nearby, the woman with her floppy brimmed hat, her hand holding it down on her head against the wind, Angel heard them bemoan the weather and the ships being held in harbor. The details escaped Angel, the words too quick and smooth, gliding through her ears without catching on the meaning. Pretty, like Rhys, but useless, unlike Rhys.

There was a catch on the line.

  
  


In his office, Jack presses the heel of his hand against his eye, hissing, pounding his other hand against the desk in a slow, steady beat, trying to distract from the pain. If pain was his medium this time, it was a  _ shit _ medium.

  
  


It was a whiscash, a huge brute in the water, following the river’s current down. Over half her weight, it caught the line, and kept going.

If she’d just let go, it would’ve been fine, minus the rod lost to the water. But it was too fast, the line pulling too suddenly. She grabbed the reel handle, and the force just snapped her forward, chest hitting the railing hard.

Stunned and winded, she fell, down down down.

 

 

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” Jack chants, body a tense cord ready to snap.

  
  


From there, it was blurry. Blame the water.

Someone saw her go over, recognized the little girl with the pigtails who was loitering around town more often than not. But no one was prepared for what happened, and it took time to catch up with her in the river’s swifts.

Everything tasted like copper as Jack held Rhys back from throwing himself in the water, yelling in a distraught mix of words. They stood on the shore, watching the sailor swim back to them with Angel against his shoulder.

Then, everything tasted like river water as Jack breathed into her, listening to his own blood pumping in his ears, just barely louder than Rhys’ crying.

She was so  _ pale _ \--

  
  


As quickly as it’d started, the ache releases Jack, so suddenly that he sags back in his chair, numb but for the echoes of the hurt.

He gasps, tastes blood in his mouth from the lip he’s bitten, before launching himself out of his chair, throwing open the office door and taking off down the hallway.

Rhys is in the kitchen, yawning as he watches the kettle. Angel’s thermos is sitting near him, open, a teabag dangling in it. He’s still in his dressing gown, soft and sleepy in a way that slips away as he looks up. A frown creases his mouth and brows. “Jack, what on earth--”

For the moment, Rhys is secondary-- is  _ tertiary _ , because Angel is putting on her coat. The fishing rod is leaned against the door, waiting for her.

He’s not too late. She’s still here.

Angel yelps in surprise as Jack lifts her, hugs her desperately to his chest. “D--dad, what’s wrong? Wh-- Dad, your mouth, you’re bleeding!”

Jack holds her closer, stepping away from the door. “It’s okay, baby, don’t worry about it.”

“Jack,” Rhys starts again, worried.

Angel squirms in his arms. “Dad, that’s too tight.”

It takes concentrated, real effort for Jack to calm. There is still a lingering sense memory of her little body, cold and soaked from the water. He wants to hold her longer, until that memory is replaced by her warmth and the steady beat of her heart.

But she lets out a little noise, unhappy, and Jack slowly relaxes his grip, pulling back to stare at her big eyes. She stares right back, lips curved down. She’s adorable, she’s the most precious thing in the world, and she’s alive.

“How about we have some family time, eh kiddo? We can stay in, maybe, uh, maybe break out one of your board games, just the three of us, huh?”

Angel pouts. “I was going to go out, Dad.”

Jack shakes his head, resting his forehead against her temple. “Not today, Angel. Do your pop a favor and stay in today, okay?” The tremble in his voice is obvious even to his ears. “Promise me, pumpkin.”

“Okay… can we play mahjong?”

Jack hates mahjong, it’s so boring, but he nods quickly. Today, it sounds like the best thing in the world. “I’m gonna put you down, okay? Go get back into your jammies and we’ll play.”

“‘Kay,” she murmurs. When Jack finally rests her down on her own two feet, she lingers for a moment, watching Jack’s face fiercely before scampering away.

Jack takes a breath, feeling like it’s the first in a decade. It hurts in his chest, but Angel is safe and home, and that’s all he cares about.

Turning, Jack lifts his gaze and sees Rhys watching him steadily. If he’s shaken, it doesn’t show on his face. But his eyes are narrow and piercing.

Swallowing, Jack shakes his head. “Later.”

“Later,” Rhys agrees quietly, and turns back to the kettle, starts pulling out mugs and putting the thermos away.

 

* * *

 

To his credit, Rhys does wait until later.

He waits through three hours of games played at the kitchen table, three pots of tea, sandwiches with the crust cut off, another hour of games, and Angel’s yawning and her quiet, prim question, “Can I be excused? I want a nap.”

Jack tugs her close, kisses her head, and watches her walk back to her room, leaving the adults to clean up after.

“Okay,” Rhys says when they’re done rinsing plates and mugs, done stacking the little tiles back into the box. “What the hell was that?”

There’s a dozen remarks on the tip of Jack’s tongue. Plays at feigned ignorance and jokes about Angel’s winning streak and a lot of non-answers.

All unworthy of Rhys, and Jack goddamn knows it.

So Jack sighs. “I…” He stops, licks his lips, feels the ache of the cut there. “God, babe, it’s a… long story.”

Rhys watches Jack’s face, silent, until Jack sighs again, relenting.

“I’ll tell you. Just… tonight. After she’s gone to bed.” He holds Rhys’ eyes. “Please.”

Rhys’ expression melts like butter in the sun, softening. It’s impossible to resist him, so Jack doesn’t bother, already too goddamn tired to fight. Swaying close, he leans against Rhys’ shoulder, letting his fiance take his weight, and feeling Rhys’ hand rub up and down his spine.

It’s way more than he deserves. But deep down, Jack always knew Nisha was right, that Rhys was far more than he deserved.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day is calmer. Jack gets a hold of himself while Angel naps, makes an effort to be a normal parent when she wakes up. When Angel wants to go out again, Jack’s pained, but says nothing about it. The danger’s passed already, it’ll be fine. Should be fine.

Still, Rhys decides to go with her, calling it an opportunity to walk Atlas, and Jack’s relief is so intense, he barely manages to wait until they leave before putting his face in his hands.

He’s glad kids have weird attention spans, because Angel’s perked up and bright again by the end of the day, like the morning weirdness never happened. It’s almost conspicuous, how easy the rest of the day goes, and Jack can’t help worrying that the other shoe is gonna drop.

As the night rolls in, Jack retreats back to his office, pouring a drink. It’s maybe a little unfair, leaving Rhys to the parenting. He’ll have to make it up to him later.

An unknown amount of time passes, spaced out between sips of whiskey on the rocks, and it’s only broken when Rhys walks in, shutting the office door behind him.

“She’s asleep,” he says. “Missed you at bedtime.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. He should apologize. Instead, he takes another sip of his drink.

He hears Rhys as he comes closer, and silently turns his chair out from the desk, giving Rhys room. It’s a silent request, and Rhys humors him, bracing himself on the back of the chair and sitting across Jack’s lap. He’s solid, heavier than he looks, and comforting. Lips ghost against Jack’s cheek, and he shuts his eyes.

“What happened today?” Rhys finally asks.

A not insignificant part of Jack wants to dodge all this. It’s so goddamn ridiculous, most days he doesn’t believe it himself, even with the proof literally carved large across his face.

But Rhys drags his fingers through the fine, soft grey streaks in Jack’s hair, and Jack doesn’t know if he’s ever trusted another person so much before. Not even Nisha, which is… a strange thing to realize.

Lifting a hand, Jack taps his face with one hand. “You wonder how I got my scar, right?”

“I do,” Rhys murmurs. “I’ve never asked. You don’t have to--”

“Nah. It’s the same story.” Jack leans back, because he can’t do this and hide in Rhys’ collarbone both. Head against his chair, chin tipped up, Jack takes a deep breath.

“I  _ really _ pissed off Suicune.”

 

 

Johto was admittedly not really Jack’s scene, but even he couldn’t deny the region was beautiful.

Nothing could compare to Unova, the steely beacon of the future it was. And anyway, Unova had created  _ him _ , so obviously it was the superior region. But Johto had its own charm. While Unova renovated and rebuilt itself over seemingly every twenty years or so, Johto seemed locked in time with its colorful villages and strange architecture. It felt like attending some kind of theme park, but… a  _ region _ of that.

Wild. Definitely a step up from neighboring Kanto, but what did Kanto have going for it? Silph Co and not a hell of a lot else.

Besides, if this went well, Jack would take Silph Co off the friggin’  _ map _ . Maybe literally. Jack had dreams of buying the Silph Co building and knocking it down. Maybe turn the land into a petting zoo, something more useful. It could be a future gift to his daughter, when she was old enough to appreciate it.

But for all that to come to pass,  _ this _ had to work first.

Getting the attention of a local deity wasn’t terribly difficult. When Jack did his reading and came across  _ ‘guardian of Ilex Forest _ ’, well.

Wood burns. And Celebi was turn to title, and came out to put out the flames.

 

 

Rhys frowns. “You… you captured Celebi? How, pokemon like that can’t be controlled, can’t be tamed.”

“True,” Jack concedes, reaching out for the glass bottle with one hand to refill his drink. “Even holding one temporarily is very difficult. But pokeballs are flawed containment devices anyway, made more for mobility and ease of use than for longer term storage.” He smirks, a little ruefully. “Master balls are expensive, and by the time I moved Celebi to my containment facility, the one I’d used was on the verge of breaking down.”

“So you kept it in something else?”

“Yup. Worked months to create a workable device. Back then, I thought it was unbreakable. And it was! From the inside, at least.”

 

 

For a living god, Celebi was small.

Jack had built the containment tank big, since the best depictions and information about Celebi were archeological carvings and folklore. Nothing solid to work off. But secure in his lab, the little elfy creature was dwarfed by the tank it was held in, flying around irritably. The walls hummed with power, repellent fields and good old-fashioned electric charge working in tandem to hold Celebi in.

More than once, it stilled in its tank, staring at Jack with something akin to understanding, to judgement.

Whatever. Jack leaned forward, holding its gaze. “Not a permanent residency, stop glaring. I just need some… assistance.”

Honestly, he was shocked no one had thought of it before. If  _ half _ of the accounts about Celebi were true, it was capable of future sight, a perfect view of things to come. 

In the hyper-competitive world of R&D, that kind of power was worth millions, maybe billions.

“I don’t want to be your enemy,” Jack said to the living god of the forest, time travel, and rejuvenation. “Just need a leg up, one you can give me.”

Celebi, little obstinate shit that it was, turned away, facing the wall.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Sure. Let’s see how long that lasts.” Crossing his arms, he nodded to the tank itself. “This thing’s got lots of fun features, state of the art, blah blah. Nothing to combat  _ boredom _ , though. Eventually, you’ll want out.”

Celebi turned its head enough to glance at Jack from the corner of its eye. Maybe it couldn’t speak, but Jack knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it  _ understood _ .

“Welllll. I’m grabbing dinner. Maybe you’ll be more cooperative tomorrow.”

As he turned and left, he could hear the static crackle of electricity as Celebi returned to hitting the tank walls fruitlessly.

 

Rhys’ silence as Jack speaks is what makes him falter, first clearing his throat and then covering his nervousness by sipping his drink. He doesn’t look at Rhys, which is not an easy task. Ever since he met his fiance, it’s been like wanting to sleep with a gravity well; resisting the urge to look at Rhys is a Herculean task.

But the thing is that Rhys is high maintenance in weird ways. Obviously the fact that Jack is willing to bribe his affections has smoothed their relationship well, but Rhys also wants Jack to be… a good person, and shit like that.

Now, he doesn’t look at Rhys because the idea that he’ll find disapproval or disgust writ into his pretty face, it’s too much for Jack to bear right now. He can tell the friggin’ story  _ or _ manage Rhys’ expectations for him. Not both.

“I’m listening,” Rhys says quietly as Jack continues to unsubtly stall.

“I know, babe. That’s the problem.” He takes a bigger gulp than he means and winces at the burn in his throat. “Kinda wish you wouldn’t.”

When he starts talking again, it’s mostly to drown out the noises passing like phantoms through his mind: echos of slammed doors, of the fading sound of Rhys’ heels against the floor, and an ensuing silence after that’s deafening.

In the face of  _ that _ little premonition, detailing the biggest fuck up of his life is easy.

 

The whole endeavour lasted four days.

Celebi wasn’t giving him anything, barring some impressively pissy faces. Having vaguely human facial structure was a power Celebi didn’t waste any time mastering.

Jack sat in the containment room with a sandwich, spoke around a mouthful, “Look, you jus’ gimme somethin’ and we can talk ‘bout a deal!”

Logically, Jack knew this process, the whole waiting-out-the-time-traveler schtick, might take a while. That, unsurprisingly enough, did nothing to help. He wasn’t a patient man.

The way he figured it, either he was going to break or Celebi was going to.

He hadn’t been aware that “the eastern wall of the room,” was a third option.

One moment, Jack was sucking down some lemonade and having a staring contest with Celebi. The next, he was knocked to the ground as some great force cracked through the wall with sound and fury.

His head hurt from impact with the floor, and he grimaced as he pushed himself up to see.

Standing in the new hole in the wall was Suicune, regal and stern, emitting a faint blue light as it looked around. Vaguely dog-shaped, Jack was more strongly reminded of full grown dragons, timeless and ancient and huge. And it  _ was _ huge, too, something the legends hadn’t deigned to mention. Suicune had the height of a full grown man and twice the length.

Its eyes, animal and yet terrifyingly intelligent, focused on the tank for a long moment. Then, it looked at Jack, just as he was getting to his feet.

“Okay,” Jack said slowly. “What, were you Celebi’s one free call?”

Suicune circled into the room, keeping its distance from Jack. For his part, Jack started to step back nervously but forced himself to still, shifting to stand between Suicune and the tank.

Behind him, he heard the tank buzz. Celebi banging on it again, probably.

 

Jack sighs, closing his eyes. “I bet you can guess what came next, pumpkin.”

Cupping Jack’s cheek, Rhys drags his thumb against the corner of his scar. Swallowing, he manages, “Y-you released Celebi, let the deity pokemon leave, and realized what a stupid idea the whole scheme had been?”

“Aw, Rhysie.” Jack laughs. “When have you  _ ever _ known me to take the smart way out?”

 

It was stubbornness that earned Jack his brand.

Suicune’s head was graced by some great crystal… antler? Crest? It was something between the two, rising high above its head, gleaming even in the artificial light. Maybe despite it; Jack wouldn’t have be shocked to find it gave off its own light.

It definitely glowed as Suicune growled, a strangely melodic sound, and lifted its head, nose pointed right at the tank.

Jack lifted his hands, opened his mouth to say something clever.

Suicune was even less impressed with him that Celebi had been, though.

There was a beat of stillness before an energy burst forth from the crest, lancing forward.

Jack hesitated too long before understanding he needed to  _ move _ , dropping toward the floor.

Later, he knew it hadn’t been fast enough. Later, he knew he’d caught the blast with his  _ face _ . Later, he’d figure out that combining the power of Suicune with the ambient energy of Celebi fucked with his head in wild and weird ways.

At the time, though, all Jack knew was a blinding pain that had him writhing on the floor, screaming in agony.

 

Fingertips glide along the harsh lines etched into Jack’s face. It makes it easier, just knowing that Rhys  _ probably _ doesn’t hate him. Rhys didn’t spare any kindness for people he hated.

And, he could have. Rhys could have hated him, and Jack wouldn’t blame him, really. Some days, Jack hates himself enough for them both. And even on the good days, he isn’t sure he deserves something so delicate and sweet as Rhys’ touch against old wounds.

“Anyway,” Jack says, voice thick and heavy. “In a way, I got what I wanted. Don’t think either of them intended it, but I get these…” He sighs tersely. “I don’t know the right word. But I know pieces of what’s to come. Arrives in flashes sometimes, or I just  _ know _ , like it has always been there.”

“You saw something about Angel, before,” Rhys fills in. 

“Yeah.” Shaking his head, Jack opens his eyes, catching Rhys’ gaze. “Don’t-- don’t ask me.”

“All right.” Rhys nods. Then, he smiles. “Wait, so… when you thought we were married?”

Oh, that. Jack can’t help smiling as well. “Yeah. Sometimes things get confused in my head. I thought that’d already happened. Especially things like that.”

“Hm?” The gentle curve of his lips is a lot to handle.

“Good things.” He winces at how friggin’ sappy that is. He’s not great at emotions, and only takes comfort in the fact that Rhys isn’t much better.

Rhys’ pleased hum vibrates into Jack’s skin, warming and bracing. The tension in his shoulders unravels slowly, and Jack wraps both arms around Rhys’ waist, holding him close and sighing with relief.

Thumb rubbing against the fine hair at Jack’s temple, Rhys says, “You’re not that man anymore.” A huff of breath stirred Jack’s hair as Rhys let out a little laugh. “Geez, you’re not even the same guy who tried to ruin my day at that cafe years ago.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, swallowing thickly and shutting his eyes. “That guy was a prick.”

“He was. I wouldn’t get engaged to that asshole.” Rhys leans back, pressure against Jack’s hands until Jack relents and lets him back up. It’s hard to let him go, even for a second. “Next time… don’t do this alone, okay? Let me help, if I can.”

Jack doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even nod, just leans against Rhys’ shoulder. 

Rhys’ fingers card through his hair. “Okay. We’ll work on that.”

Jack doesn’t need to see the future to know that.


End file.
